


Hard to Swallow

by LittleLinor



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor 2
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, Consensual Kink, Established Relationship, M/M, Mouth Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 00:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16691668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor
Summary: Yamato Hotsuin learns to indulge in little pleasures. Like having his fingers down Daichi's throat.





	Hard to Swallow

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from tumblr. The request was "something with gagging," and I, like an idiot, forgot that "gagging" usually refers to "putting a gag into someone's mouth" and not "making someone gag"
> 
> But by then this fic was already written.  
> (sorry about the title)

There were many things Yamato liked about Daichi’s hair. Its softness under his fingers, the obvious effort and attention Daichi put into it, the way it looked after being pulled and raked through, matted with sweat or blood. But one of the things he loved most was how its length was just  _perfect_  to grab and pull.

And maybe sometimes he indulged a little too much. Having Daichi’s head in his grip was  _addictive_ , whether he was holding it like this or leading him by a collar. But there was something about his hair in particular, the way in which he could control not just his movement but his line of sight, the ease with which he could go from tender combing to hard pulling with almost no transition, that had him hooked enough to go back to it again and again, sometimes even absently, his hands making their way to Daichi’s head naturally, with no deliberate thought of his own.

Daichi didn’t seem to mind, but he had been raised to disapprove of little pleasures, and indulging in something that wasn’t  _necessary_ , even to something as personal as their relationship, brought about an aftertaste of conditioned guilt.

(The way Daichi so often sat at his feet unprompted, head just within reach, definitely helped with that, at least)

Today, though, his grip was anything but accidental. With Daichi kneeling between his legs, head pulled back by the hair almost to the point of discomfort, he had free rein to explore his face as he liked, running his thumb over his parted lips and his fingertips into the roots of his hair.

It was always something he enjoyed, but today the attention to his lips in particular served as teasing of a kind. When he pulled his fingers away from his lip, Daichi let out a little sigh that tugged at him— _adorable_.

“You sound excited,” he remarked in a fond murmur. He brought his hand to his own mouth, and tested his nails against his own tongue, then the inside of his lips.

Daichi chuckled and smiled.

“Yeah.”

No snags, and nothing protruding beyond his fingertips. Good. He pulled his hand back.

“That makes two of us.”

He started off with his thumb. He gripped Daichi’s chin with his other fingers and slid it inside, caressing his tongue first, then hooking it behind his teeth and forcing his jaw open. Daichi’s breath hitched and sped up as he tried to relax and follow his lead, and when the tip of Yamato’s thumb pressed harder and into the soft flesh under Daichi’s tongue, he let out a quiet little moan, burried so deep inside his throat it was almost inaudible.

He hadn’t planned on it, but the noise hooked him, pulled him in, and he bent down to kiss what was accessible of his lips, pressed down on Daichi’s tongue with his own, trapped it between tongue and finger. His own breath came deep, his mind detaching from the world but crystal clear when it came to everything Daichi touched, like the sharpened focus of fighting, the flow of magic.

Daichi moaned again, louder this time, and he shakily bit at his upper lip before pulling back.

“… sorry.”

With his head and jaw locked, there was no way Daichi could really answer, but the curved weight of his eyelids, the creases at his eyes and the warmth of his cheeks were smiling happily, and the guilt of letting his feelings carry him washed away. He bent down again to leave a grateful kiss to his eyelids.

Daichi gave a little hum, and he found himself smiling back, resting his face against his forehead for a few seconds. Then he finally pulled back, released Daichi’s chin (he was proud to see Daichi kept his jaw in place without prompting), twisted his hand and pressed two fingers inside Daichi’s mouth.

At first, he kept them face down and only halfway in, leisurely playing with Daichi’s tongue. It brushed against him in response, as it would for a kiss, following his lead when he pressed down on it. He trapped it between the sides of his fingers and pulled, and almost bit his own lip when Daichi’s breath came in fast, shaky exhales against his fingers. He released it. Daichi let out a deep breath and gulped, and Yamato twisted the hand in his hair just a little tighter, an affectionate urge as much as a safety measure.

“Good. Very good…”

He let himself trail off without detailing his thoughts further, and added a third finger before twisting his hand again, allowing his fingers to press against the upper part of Daichi’s mouth.

If the first half offered less to play with than Daichi’s tongue had, he still took the time to stay there a while, pressing and caressing gently to let Daichi get used to the sensation. When he finally edged further in, however, Daichi started to tense, subtly at first, then more as the bone under Yamato’s fingers made way for softer, pliable flesh. Daichi’s eyes closed, slightly tightened in concentration, and when he rubbed at the back of his mouth, he saw him freeze—and then cough.

“Easy there.”

He pulled back slightly to let Daichi get his breath back, then eased back into his spot, just feeling his fingers slide against him. Daichi’s eyes were closed tightly, and as soon as they started relaxing, Yamato pressed again, making him cough harder against his fingers. He let his breath grow frantic and uneven, struggling to keep him supplied with air around the stressful pressure in his mouth, then drew back to the safer half of his mouth. A line of saliva ran down his wrist. He let it, and waited for Daichi to catch his breath somewhat.

“Are you all right?” he whispered into his ear.

Daichi whimpered slightly, then nodded.

This time, he let his fingers press further, sliding them past his mouth proper and against the edge of his throat. Instantly, it squeezed and pushed to force him out, but he refused to move, keeping his fingertips flush against the lining of his throat. The squeezing stopped, an intoxicating calm before the storm, and then suddenly all of Daichi’s throat contracted around him, his tongue curving down, a spasm coursing through his entire chest. Daichi’s eyes squeezed more tightly shut, and Yamato found himself caught, fascinated, his own breath short with the desire to keep going, keep feeling Daichi’s body wringing itself around him, keep him locked close, keep his mouth spread, and drink in the trust and fear and abandon coming from him in waves. He wished he had more limbs to keep holding and caressing him as he did this, a hand to comb his hair, another to keep his shoulders safely anchored and supported, a last one to gently caress his cheek, to let him know exactly how much he was loving this, how much he treasured every offered second he got to experience him.

Instead, he kissed his forehead and moved his face closer to his.

“Open your eyes, Daichi. Look at me.”

He did, slowly, almost shyly. His eyelids opened halfway, just enough for him to look, then fluttered shut again, before finally opening properly, their dragging movement subtly sensual. His eyes were damp underneath, and Yamato wanted nothing more than to coax the tears out of his eyes, and then gently wipe them away. He smiled when Daichi’s eyes caught his own, high on triumph and pride.

“Good.”

Daichi hummed quietly, but the vibration made him press against Yamato’s fingers, and he gagged again, a small cough followed by a hard squeeze of his stomach and throat. His eyes blinked frantically, fought to stay focused on Yamato’s own, the flash of wide-eyed alarm piercing right through Yamato’s chest. He caught himself murmuring Daichi’s name, warm and possessive and awestruck. The clenching stopped, and Daichi’s breath brushed his fingers again. He was shaking, now, throat buzzing with little aftershakes that hugged Yamato’s fingertips, and all the while he kept his eyes up, fluttering but determined, tears finally rolling down his cheeks.

He was fierce and open, and Yamato had to violently rein his own breath back in to keep himself under control.

“… one last time. You’re doing really well, you can hold on a little longer.”

Rather than pressing with his fingers to trigger it, he decided to wait, on the edge, to enjoy every suspended second of the buildup, of Daichi’s shaky, restrained breath. When it hit, it came as two short, violent waves, the shock of it raking through Daichi’s body, and before it could rise again, Yamato finally pulled out his fingers and wrapped his arm around Daichi’s back to support him, listening to the sobs slipping out of his freed throat.

“Good job,” he murmured, releasing some of the tension in his hair to rub his scalp a little. “… thank you.”

It had come out even more quiet, but he hoped that so close to his ear, Daichi would have heard it. Against his chest, Daichi coughed once—twice—and nuzzled his shoulder, breath still harsh.

Yamato leaned his head against him and waited, letting him catch his breath and stop trembling. It was all he could hear, the sweet, familiar sound of air coming in and out of him, making him press against his chest. It anchored him, kept safely focused even as his awareness settled, lost some of its sharpness. He hugged him a little tighter. He deserved to be shielded from reality a little longer.

“Daichi?”

“‘m okay.” He paused, coughed quietly. “My throat feels weird.”

“It might for a while.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He took a deep breath and pushed away from Yamato’s shoulder. Yamato let him, adjusting his hand’s hold so he could straighten.

Daichi’s face was still wet with tears, but there was contentment written into his features, and a small, shy smile on his lips. He chuckled and looked away; Yamato let go of his back to wipe his tears off. It made him chuckle again, then laugh quietly—then cough again.

“You like it when I cry, don’t you?”

“Have I ever tried to hide it?”

“Not really. It was just really obvious this time.” He paused. “… I could _feel_  it.”

“Feel what?”

“That you wanted me to cry.” He looked up again. “Made me want to last longer so I could.”

It took Yamato a few seconds to swallow the lump in his throat, gather his wits, and answer.

“… you are amazing, Daichi.” As Daichi giggled at the praise, he continued. “How did it feel?”

“Really helpless. Really  _defenseless_.” A deep, comfortable sigh. “I loved it.”

"And now?”

“Now I’m just tired.” He coughed lightly. “Well, aside from _that_.” He leaned against Yamato’s shoulder again, and subtly curled into him, a silent request for warmth and protection. “… keep me in your arms, will you?”

Yamato tightened his hold, pulled them both down on the bed, and rested some of his weight on him.

“All right.”


End file.
